Protector
by Raven Paradox
Summary: What is Fate? An unavoidable and predestined path, or a set of events that, though improbable, happen anyway? Is it really beyond human power, or do we ignorantly determine its course? Does it define who we are, or do we choose who we become? An unlucky criminal is forced to confront this Fate, but her answers may lay in life, death, or the Hashashin! [gradual Malik/OC]
1. 0

_**To The Fox Familiar,**_

_**Thank you for your tips and Beta-reading!**_

_**To Techne,**_

_**Thank you for your commentary and support!**_

_**Your comrade,**_

_**Raven Paradox**_

**[ Disclaimer ] This is a work of fan fiction that uses the characters, concepts, and canon from the Assassin's Creed franchise. Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft, Patrice Desilets, Jade Raymond, and Corey May.**

**[ Warning ] This story is rated M for the following reasons: violence, adult language, dark themes, and sexual themes.**

**User reviews and criticism always appreciated!**

* * *

**0 | Prologue**

"_Khala_, is that all you need of me?"

"Yes, child. Now go before they breach the walls!"

The novice bowed. The naïve boy did not realize how insignificant formalities were in dire situations and emergencies… But he ran for the fortress—for the lives of the villagers, and disappeared among the trees I could not see in the dark.

I closed the hut's back door. Despite my fatigue, I walked to my bed and knelt down. I prayed to Allah that he would protect the boy until he delivered the warning.

My joints began aching in pain again. Sighing heavily, I forced myself into bed and pulled the increasingly heavy blankets over me. Closing my eyes, I waited.

It was so cold...

The inevitable first cry cut the silence. A man yelled in alarm. A young woman's voice echoed it just for a moment before being silenced. Wood was sliced, beaten, and opened. Another man's voice continued the echo, and the effect quickly spread uphill. Even the children joined in, the poor weaklings. Heavy objects started falling in every direction.

My pulse quickened in alarm and familiarity. I could picture outside: broken doors, fallen weapons, carnage, the smell of blood, everyone's eyes burning from sweat, women and children screaming and crying, adrenaline bringing men to life, and the soldiers satisfying a blood-thirsty addiction disguised as justice.

Opening my eyes, my brittle hands shook as fists. I felt useless and restless, but I did not have the strength to walk anymore. I knew it was futile to worry. The Mongols would continue avoiding my hut, and the _Hashashin_ would survive this onslaught as they have before, as would the next Grand Master.

At the thought of Malik, I smiled sadly.

Hayati_, will he be alright? Will he do well? Will his training be enough? Did I do everything I could for him...?_

A wave of melancholic nostalgia washed over me. I breathed in deeply.

_Did I do well, _hayati_?_

* * *

**[ **_Hashashin _**] Levantine Assassins from the Middle Ages.**

**[ **_hayati _**] very affectionate nickname for a significant other; "my life."**

**[ **_khala _**] endearing/respectful Arabic nickname for elderly women; "auntie."**


	2. 1-1

**1 | Murderer**

The clouds almost completely enveloped the moon, leaving just enough light for me to see the amazing architecture of this man's house. He was no doubt rich, and I could not wait to see him. I had met the old man several weeks earlier in the Rich District's market; he bought fresh meat and salt while I bought some expensive fabrics, but chances are he did not remember. I, on the other hand, never forgot a face or voice.

Because my target resided in the Rich District, there were many guards in the way. Four independent groups patrolled around and within the property's fence. Their frequent shifting between posts driven by their impatience gave me plenty of opportunities to slip through. Unlike them, I had patience.

And I was rewarded. The courtyard gave more hiding places than I first knew. The information given to me by a guard I had bribed did not do justice! All the gardens, benches, and fountains made it easier to sneak to the wall I was climbing.

Thank Allah the sounds of my climb were covered by the fountains' continuous water flows. Staying suspended on walls had never been my strong point, and the fact the target's personal bedroom was on the third floor did not help me. If he were not rich, breaking into the house through the first floor would have been enough. Still, he either had more enemies than I realized or was extremely paranoid—

I instinctively stilled. Someone had their gaze on me! I dared not to move my head. The side of the brick wall filled my gaze, but I kept my hold on the spaces between the bricks despite my sweaty hands beginning to cramp. A full minute passed before I heard one of the guards curse his eyes for playing tricks on him. My arms started throbbing and feeling heavier.

He still had not left. I ordered myself to remain still, but my arms disobeyed and began to shake. If that guard did not leave soon, I would have to get rid of him!

As he looked around, I imagined the quietest way to kill him. Afterwards, I could easily hide his body in the courtyard…

But the lucky man returned to patrolling around the house with his colleagues. Daring to not risk another encounter, I quickly resumed climbing up until I reached the roof.

How careless! There was only one archer stationed here, and his back was to me. I grinned.

My hand moved to my side, grabbing my prized eleven inches long Syrian dagger. I settled on using a backwards grip with my left hand, allowing its knuckles to punch despite holding a blade. I stalked low towards the guard in his blind spot. Right behind him, I punched his left kidney while my free hand covered his mouth and pulled his head back. He gasped, shocked from the blow. My armed hand reached around and stabbed through his leather breastplate, delving into his heart. I pushed the weapon deeper and deeper while keeping his screams muffled. Then I vigorously moved the dagger from side-to-side, decimating the organ. His screams quickly died along with his life.

I breathed in deeply.

Iron filled my head. It felt euphoric—!

_I am on a mission. I need to remain sober._

I exhaled long, my mind coming back into focus, though I felt down now. I could never have any fun on missions!

I quietly lowered the archer's corpse facedown. I scanned the nearby rooftops again and confirmed there were no more archers to hinder my mission and escape routes. After quickly freeing my dagger, I cleaned it on his socks then put it away. I walked near the edge and lowered onto my stomach. Ignoring the freezing rooftop, I waited for my target's household to retire.

A normal person would be asleep at this hour, but not this old man. I could not help being surprised at this unexpected predicament. After all, it was my job to kill him, not to learn his personal habits. His apparent paranoia might have kept him alive all of those years, but tonight it would be his end.

I already knew which window lead to his bedroom. At least that information from the bribed guard was accurate. A lit candle on the sill showed that he has not retired to bed yet. My ears strained to hear his heavy feet pacing back and forth. If that did not reflect his frustrated state, his loud cursing at Allah did. How disgusting! Our language was supposed to be beautiful, but it sounded guttural coming out of that pig's mouth. Thank Allah he would not be sullying it for long…

The sill's candle was put out first. The others were still lit, but they gave glimpses into the master bedroom that I had only seen in blueprints supplied by my employer. Focusing, my eyes made out the huge fur rug covering half of the floor, a study desk and an expensive looking chair tucked into a corner, and a bookcase hugging the walls. I could care less for them; my target's blood was calling my name. Besides, someone of my status carrying valuables would be suspicious as well as slow me down.

An hour or two passed before the other candles were blown out. My fingers twitched with anticipation; now was my chance!

I flung my legs over the edge and secured my footing. Slower and quieter than before, I climbed down the wall. It was easier to go down than up, but the excitement of reaching the destination could make fools of anyone. I had seen soldiers and thieves alike get sloppy and break their limbs from falling.

As a matter of fact, a broken ankle was my lesson. Luckily I had not landed on my back. My employer had always told me to land in a roll, and that was what I did from then on. It had proven to be a lifesaver.

My foot found the target's window. I climbed in, careful to not knock any close furniture. The moon's already limited light could not reach in, making the room completely dark. My eyes took a few moments to adjust, and then I saw the outline of the master bed. I armed myself once again and walked towards it with confidence.

Since I had done this so many times, my breaths remained even and soundless, allowing me to be a true snake in the grass.I raised the dagger in my hand, looking at the end of the bed where the old man's head would be.

I paused. Something was not right… Where was the outline of a body?

Alarmed and suspicious, I moved to turn but ducked and dashed to the middle of the room instead. The lethal sword cut the bed.

"ASSASSI—"

My dagger flew towards the source of the target's voice. I heard a pained cry and the sword fall. Focusing on his body despite the dark, it became clear his hands were clutching around my dagger's hilt since the blade was deep in his throat. The pig began gurgling blood.

I hastily approached him, ripping my weapon from the doomed man then heading for the window.

The door busted open, revealing several armed guards, but by the time they witnessed their master's last breath, I had reached the courtyard.

Sticking to the shadows, I patiently moved past the ignorant guards abandoning their posts to investigate the house. They even left the gate open!

I crawled out from my hiding spot–underneath a bench–and stood up. I ran through the only entrance and exit. Finding the closest climbable building, I reached the rooftops and free-ran out of the Rich District.

Once I crossed into the Poor District, I climbed down and landed in a vacant alleyway. Rising from a roll, I sighed heavily.

The mission was not nearly as satisfying as I had hoped it would be.

**1 | 1**

By the time dawn approached, the entire Rich District knew that Zaid Sabah had been murdered. By the time the sun reached the top of the sky, the rest of Jerusalem knew as well.

However, only so much could be learned from hearsay and gossip. Like many times before, I had to personally report to my employer at his incense shop and explain in great detail how the mission occurred. While Shazeb Al-Roze was rather… impish, he was also very empathetic. He must have had similar life experiences, but he had never been willing to share them despite our relationship.

What I did know was Shazeb had been running his independent mercenary business for at least ten years. I had worked for him for three years so far. As much as I hated to admit it, I owed him from the very beginning. He chose me to replace my predecessor because he knew that my gender would be my greatest advantage; no one ever suspected women to be murderers.

When the client finally arrived with his payment, the normal customers were already here, so Shazeb had to attend to them. I led our client, after blindfolding him, to where we are now: the secret office.

It was a brilliant idea, connecting the back of the shop to the abandoned garden house behind it. Shortly after the Third Crusade, Shazeb took advantage of the city's chaos when it was recovering from the war, so no one really cared that he claimed the house before privately hiring workers to connect the two buildings. So in the storage room, the correct back door (concealed by the correct tapestry) opened to the correct hallway leading to the makeshift office in the garden house.

I took off the blindfold, allowing the client to see again. I pointed at the _sammar_ desk. The fidgety man approached it, finding the contract papers on display. The bag he brought landed next to them with a heavy thud and clanks. The top opened, revealing gold coins. Such a rich color!

I watched the client sign the papers to verify that I had done my job and he had paid for my services. Finished, he shakily returned the quill into the tiny brass pot of ink. I grabbed the contract and scanned it. Normally Shazeb would do this since he was formally educated.

I looked away from the contract. The man sighed, relieved when I nodded and approved the documents.

"Allah reward you," he thanked, not wanting to upset a _man_ that could kill him on the spot. "I will recommend you if my friends need similar business to be attended, if Allah wills!"

My silence rewarded his efforts. I reached into my right sleeve. His eyes widened, but he relaxed upon seeing the blindfold emerge. The satisfied client cooperated as I tied the black cloth around his eyes then led him back to the incense shop's storage room. I removed the blindfold again, and we casually entered the main room. Or I did. The special costumer briskly exited through the front door.

Shazeb turned his head, giving me a questioning look.

I shrugged. I did not do anything.

Shazeb stroked his graying short beard. Oh well!

I returned to the storage room. The two small windows on opposite walls allowed me to see the four hanging tapestries. I approached the one on the far left. It was the plainest tapestry compared to the others. While they had gold writings over the sacred color green, that one was black with grey patterns woven in.

I pushed the tapestry aside. I opened the hidden door to a windowless, narrow hallway. I entered. The tapestry swayed back into place after I closed the door behind me. It was pitch black now. My left fingertips barely touched the wall, and they brushed against it as I took five long steps forward. Then I extended my right hand—Ow! My fingers hit the wooden door at the wrong angle!

Cursing under my breath, I rubbed my right hand then pushed the door open. My eyes quickly adjusted to seeing the office. The garden house had a total of four windows, and one of them was in that room, allowing sunlight to enter. The tan walls helped brighten the place.

I entered and shut the door. I briefly looked out the window. Seeing no one nearby, I went to the darkest corner of the room.

I pulled up my mask. I had designed it to resemble a _niqab_. But I shortened the end, so it reached just a hand's width past my shoulder line. Next, I pulled off my leather boots. A pleasant sigh escaped me. My eyes followed the trail up my tough feet and ankles, to the _sirwal_ hugging my long legs, then to the base of my_ thawb_. Since it was designed for rambunctious young men, it reached my knees instead of my ankles. Each piece of clothing was black and made from linen.

I stripped the _thawb_ off. Leather appeared in my side vision; straps were wrapped around my torso. Ten leather holsters attached to them lined against my flat sides, and ten throwing knives rested there.

Coordination and accuracy were my true talents.

As I continued undressing, my leather belt rubbed against my waist. I pushed the _sirwal _down. My right hand bumped against the sheathed dagger at my hip. My coin pouch rested at the other. Long ago I had cut in two discrete flaps on the undersides of my _thawb_ to have easy access to those hidden possessions.

Finally uncovered, I walked to the wooden trunk next to Shazeb's desk. I got on my knees and opened it. Inside were my normal clothes: a maroon _jilbaab_ made from silk with a matching _niqab_ and leather sandals. Putting them on, my fingers accidentally went through the flaps again. After a long past incident with Shazeb that almost ended in my death, I had decided to add my discrete flap design to all of my robes no matter what occasion they were for. Sometimes it was annoying. But like always, I got over it and fully dressed.

I returned to the corner to gather my working clothes and move them to the trunk. I closed it shut with a heavy thunk. Pleased, I returned to the storage room.

I set the moved tapestry back into place, hiding the door. I readjusted my _niqab_ while entering the incense shop's main room.

Shazeb's merchandise assaulted my nose. The bridge started to burn; my mouth opened… Ah—!

I violently sneezed.

"Uh… _Alhumdulillah,_" I praised Allah for my sneeze.

"Allah have mercy upon you," Shazeb replied.

He was at the purchasing desk putting away money from the last costumer. The shop was empty.

"Allah guide you."

"You are special for Allah to gift you with such a sensitive nose!" Shazeb waved both of his blue sleeved arms, praising Allah.

I rubbed my irritated nose through the cloth. "Maybe. I know sneezing pleases him more than my profession."

Shazeb lowered his arms. He raised a bushy black eyebrow. Moving closer, I was reminded that he was a head taller than me.

"The customers would covet being able to sneeze that easily while here. After all, this is an incense shop!" His beard failed to cover his slightly wrinkled smile.

I smiled back. Where would I be right now without him? If it was not so difficult negotiating with clients, and if I had not lost my way, I would not have ended up working for him. Shazeb's knowledge of everyone and what they wanted and needed was amazing alone; it took him a minimum of three weeks to find another client. Also, he was not as greedy as I presumed when we first met. He had always given me twenty-five percent shares.

"Which reminds me: why do you refuse to wear the clothes I gave you for your last birthday? It is a fair color on you!"

He had also always thought that blue was the best color to wear since it symbolized protection.

I, however, did not care.

"Blood appears on dark blue."

"Yes, but only in the sunlight. Otherwise it is hardly visible!"

The mention of blood reminded me of my disappointment in last night's mission.

I hesitated, "Shazeb?"

He paused, analyzing my vocal and body language. "What it is, child?"

"…I need a break."

His face turned to disbelief and concern.

I quickly assured him, "I am fine, but I cannot resist anymore."

Shazeb straightened his posture and crossed his arms. I shifted uneasily. He obviously did not like my addiction—he never had. He helped me get it under control in the first place!

But that was not the first time I had needed a break. I had plenty of saved money, though I was not sure about Shazeb. Still, my breaks lasted for no more than a month. Three months out of three years was not a very big deal to me. I hoped it was not to him.

Shazeb sighed then shook his head.

He finally answered, "Alright, but do not get yourself killed… or injured."

Somehow his white turban came loose. It partially revealed his bald head, yet he did not notice.

I could feel a snicker rising. I started heading towards the front door. Also, I wanted to leave before he changed his mind.

"Woman! Do not laugh at my warnings! Do not get killed or injured, or I will beat sanity into you again!"

_I am a professional assassin. I will maintain composure!_

"No jumping from two story buildings either! And do not start fights in public!" he shouted from the other side of the shop.

I paused, glancing back. The turban fell off. Shazeb finally noticed and bent down to retrieve it, forgetting about our conversation. A long, fleshy scar was revealed, starting from the top of his head, down the side, and ending behind his right ear.

I flinched. It was a miracle Shazeb survived that attack.

"Go in peace."

He looked up while wrapping his turban back on. "May Allah protect you."

I quickly bowed then went outside.

I nonchalantly walked in the nearly empty streets. There were not many people around because it was lunchtime, so I was surprised when I spotted a heavy set thug emerge from an alleyway. His full pouches bounced against his wide belt with each step he took.

My veteran fingers twitched. I wanted them.

Instead, I traveled to the Rich District. That district's thugs scouted their territory around the markets since the busy and noisy crowds could conceal any sounds of violence. Those brutes were more aggressive than their Middle and Poor District counterparts, but they were easier to pickpocket. Still, I needed to be prepared.

I passed a Jewish market before finding a Muslim one. There I bought a standard vase made of clay. I bowed, thanking the clerk, and left with my purchase.

Approaching the rugged streets behind the marketplace, I balanced the vase on my head, using my left arm to help prevent it from falling. A young looking thug emerged from around a corner. He had a shallow sneer on his face. Curious, I followed him. His arrogant walk, even after we joined the main street, confirmed my suspicion that he was a new thug, stupid in youth. Perfect!

He continued his way on the right side of the street. I tailed close behind, keeping three persons' length away. I looked ahead and saw a potential opportunity: another alleyway was coming up. The young thug showed interest in it. He was eleven strides away from the mouth.

I increased my steps' strides but maintained the same walking speed. I was taught long ago that walking briskly could give away my presence. Also, I made sure to match my steps with his hitting the ground.

_Six strides_—The pouch in the middle looked a little loose.

_Three strides_—My right arm reached out.

The thug began turning around the corner to enter the alleyway. My fingers clutched the loose string attaching the pouch to his belt. I gave a light jerk, freeing it. He walked down the alleyway. I continued down the street. Grasping the pouch in my hand, I squeezed. Beneath the leather were many coins pressed against each other. I smirked in triumph. My right arm raised then dropped the pouch in the vase.

An angry masculine voice yelled. I brought my arm down. The young thug's pounding feet returned to the main street. His snarls grew louder with each step. He was getting closer.

I kept walking with an oblivious demeanor. He could not have possibly noticed I was tailing him!

I suddenly remembered my past experiences with stealing from thugs. I quickly moved the vase into my arms.

"Out of my way!" he bellowed and knocked me over.

I yelped. I spun enough to land on my back. Hitting the ground, I exhaled painfully. The breath was knocked out of me. Despite this I remained alert. I had nearly lost my grip on the vase from the fall. That was too close!

I took a minute to breathe. The ignorant thug disappeared in the distance. I stood up and returned the vase upon my head. Oh—my back hurt and it was painful to breathe deeply! But at least this time was successful; I should probably quit and go home. I wanted to move the money to a safer place anyway.

I continued southward. It became obvious when I entered the Middle District. It was not as populated as the Rich District since its most important areas were the Christians' _Muristan_, or quarter containing their shops and hospitals, and the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

It was not long before I located an alleyway. I hid there and grabbed the vase with both hands. As I lowered it, sounds of a fist fight reached my ears. My head turned towards the noise.

I shook my head. I should ignore it.

Returning my attention to the vase, I turned it upside down and caught the stolen pouch. After setting the vase down, I slipped the pouch through my _jilbaab_'s side flap. I made sure to tightly tie the pouch to my belt.

An acute cry cut through the air. My head turned back towards the source of the scuffle. Someone was losing badly.

My hands left my clothes. Suddenly, the fighting stopped. I heard two men starting to converse instead. That finally grabbed my curiosity!

I hugged the wall and slowly crept to the edge. I spied around the corner. I saw an average looking civilian facing my direction. He was on his knees, terrified, and had blood on his face. He had lost.

He did not notice me, however. His focus was on a peculiar man standing before him.

At first I thought he was a scholar, but the more I studied him, the more I realized he was but a scholar. A white hood covered his head; Jerusalem's scholars wore turbans. The white sleeves covering his arms failed to hide his impressive muscles, and he wore dark leather straps around his back and waist. Most scholars I had seen were either skinny or fat. Their profession gave them no business being that muscular! No. That man in white was impersonating a scholar.

"_Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi rajiun_."

The civilian's eyes filled with horror at the fake scholar's words. Mine widened in anticipation.

_To Allah we belong and to him we return. _

I almost missed it: his left hand slammed against the other's neck. The dead man's breathing became flooded, and blood appeared, spilling down his white _thawb_.

I pulled back and hid against the corner. I should not have seen that! But who was that fake scholar? What was the purpose of killing that man? And how did he cut him? I saw no weapon!

_Go, now! _my instincts screamed.

Grabbing the vase, I quickly returned to the main streets. I balanced the clay object on my head once more and went on my way.

Considering what I witnessed, along with my profession, I could not help but wonder if there were other murderers who dressed like scholars…

**1 | 1**

The Poor District was my safe haven. I grew up there for most of my life, so I was very familiar with the layout—with the many alleyways and low buildings. It was also the smallest district and least populated. The guards were few in numbers and spread out. I especially liked that.

Looking up, I gazed at the building leading to my unique home for the last seven years. I did not know if Old-Man found it or designed it that way. Despite how close we were, I knew barely anything about him. However, I did know that I reminded him of his granddaughter. That was what led him to take me in and teach me how to steal, to become an expert thief like him.

I held my vase in my left arm. Choosing the shortest wall, I ran up it and grabbed the roof's edge with my free hand. I carefully placed the vase on top of the roof before hauling myself up. I picked up the vase then hid behind a garden. Archers were rare in this district, but I scanned the rooftops. After verifying their absence, I moved to an adjacent building.

On that building's roof was a large rectangular hole, an unusual window of sorts. It was really an entrance and the only entrance and used window in the three roomed building.

I reached the entrance's edge. I dropped down while tightly holding the vase. My feet hit the floor with more force than I was use to; I could not roll with the vase in my arms. Cursing, I bent my knees then rotated my strained ankles. They quickly recovered.

I turned around and placed the newest addition next to the other vases near the waterless fountain. On both sides were plugged vases containing drinkable water. The pale brick fountain was built into the end wall. Though useless in its original function, Old-Man taught me how to utilize its height and stairway shape. It made climbing out easier.

I removed my _niqab_, wiping the sweat from my brow. I entered the main room and tossed the veil on the long table. One end of it reached the wall while the other end stopped short, leaving enough room for entry and exit near the hallway. Behind the long table was a huge shelf against the wall. It was filled with books—my books and Old-Man's books. The room's center was open for practicing techniques. At the very back corner were two chairs and a small table. That area was for the rare occasions I ate at home. The opposite corner neighbored a door leading to my bedroom.

I entered there. It was very dark. Its one window had been boarded by Old-Man long ago. Why he did that, I had no idea. But I lit the candles, illuminating my bed of pillows. There were originally two, but I had combined them after Old-Man's death. That left enough room for the variety of cloths lying around that I made clothes from. My sewing kit was somewhere in the mess. My clothes drawer was backed against a wall.

Running a hand through my coarse hair, I recalled what I would need for my break: balm, gauze, oils, thread, needle, possibly new boots, my free-running clothes…

I slapped my forehead. I left them at Shazeb's shop. Why did I leave them at Shazeb's shop? Oh, right. I had made an unplanned request for time off and left once he agreed.

I cursed. I really did not want to go back there; my nose was that sensitive to incense. But the day was still young. There were other things to do before then.

Speaking of Shazeb, it had been a few weeks since I last visited his family. He should have trusted me enough by now to not mind my visiting his household unannounced. Talking to Shazeb's wife without him looming over like a rain cloud could be fun!

Excited, I opened the drawer and grabbed a white _hijab_. I exited my room while wrapping the scarf around my head. I entered the hallway. Picking a vase, I pulled its cork out. I drank some water then set it down and plugged it closed. I stood, facing the dry fountain. Like many times before, I ran up the steps. When my left foot was set on top of the fountain, I jumped and effortlessly grabbed the edge of the roof then pulled myself up.

I habitually scanned the nearby area for archers. There were none like usual. I strolled to the edge and looked down. Below was a narrow alleyway where I could jump down in secret. Instead, I scaled down the wall. Shazeb once taught me that because I am a woman, I should go easy on myself whenever I could. My body was not as equipped for such physical exertion as a man's body, no matter how trained and experienced I was. And after irritating my healed broken ankle, I decided to use his advice.

My feet reached the ground. I straightened my clothes. Recomposed, I joined the crowds in the street, and my thoughts drifted with the noise.

After I crossed the border between the Poor District and the Rich District, I realized something. I was still not sure if Shazeb's wife knew about her husband's second job. She seemed only aware of the incense business, and she seemed to believe I worked part time as a cashier. At the very least, she and I were acquaintances. I wondered what she really thought about me.

The increased number of guards became noticeable immediately. More guards meant more dishonorable men. I hated that.

Yet by the will of Allah, I managed to reach the Al-Roze house without incident.

Moving to the front door, I politely knocked. The door creaked, slowly opening. To my surprise a very little boy answered the door. The innocent yet alert child stared up at me.

"What? Uh, peace upon you," I greeted. His eyes brightened. He recognized my voice. "Where is your mother?"

"Who is there?!"

I shifted my gaze into the house. A frantic short woman rushed into view holding a broom above her head. She had dark brown hair, tan skin, and light brown eyes. Her hair was much longer than mine, almost reaching her butt.

My eyes widened at her hostility, and I hastily backed away from her child.

"Rabeea, it is me! Kifah? From your husband's shop?"

She came to a halt. Her wild expression slowly melted into a face of remembrance.

"Yes," she nodded. "Yes! I remember now." She lowered the broom to her side then completely opened the door. "I am so sorry I did not recognize you! Every time I have seen you, your face was covered. Peace be upon you!"

"And peace upon you," I answered, a little irked, before entering the residence. Rabeea did not recognize my voice. Her young child was smarter than she was!

Rabeea closed the door after me. She placed the broom against the smooth concrete wall. Her hands brushed her rich blue _jilbaab_. No doubt Shazeb had imposed that color on her, though she did not seem to mind. It really showed how much he cared for her.

Said wife and mother suddenly stood before me. She grasped my face in her hands. Before I could pull away, she turned my head from side to side. I could not hide the discomfort on my face. I was not comfortable being handled like that.

"Are you done yet?"

"No! I want to remember your face," Rabeea insisted.

"…I am done!" she finally declared then released me.

The little boy laughed, causing us to look at him. Rabeea smiled tenderly.

"Ridha, come here!" she cooed, picking up her son.

I tilted my head, somewhat charmed by Ridha's big eyes resembling his father's dark brown ones.

"How old is he now?"

Rabeea smiled brightly, and she quickly tucked her smooth hair behind her ears.

"He is two years old, as Allah willed! Oh, did you know Shazeb and I were trying for children for over five years? And he finally allowed Ridha to be conceived!"

The late mother cuddled him to her bosom. Suddenly, with seriousness in her eyes Rabeea looked at me.

"Being a mother to your child is the most important job in the world… You will understand someday, Kifah!" And her lightheartedness returned completely.

I did not know how to respond, so I remained silent. I did not know if it was Allah's will for me to have a child, and I could not help but doubt it given my past and present. How could a coldblooded murderer be a good mother to begin with?

Rabeea bonded with Ridha, cuddling and talking sweetly to him. I eventually coughed to regain her attention.

"Rabeea, are there any chores I can do for you? I can go to the market or… anywhere, really."

She turned to me with brightening eyes.

"Actually, there are a lot of things I need to buy, but my husband is still attending his shop… Oh! Could you watch Ridha for me?"

I was taken aback, "You want me to take care of him? But you do not know me very well!"

Rabeea did not falter, "So? You have worked for my husband for three years, and he has not complained about you much. It is only because of your misfortune that he allows you to visit, but Shazeb knows you very well… I think. And I trust my husband's judgment." She smiled again. "Besides, you seem like a good woman to me!"

I frowned inwardly. That woman's… I was not sure if she was naïve or stupid. Maybe both, yet she was at least ten years my senior. Either way, I hoped she was not like that around strangers—or the guards, Allah forbid! Otherwise she was going to endanger herself.

"No, I insist! I should go instead. I-I have no experience with caring for children!"

What I really wanted to say was that unlike her, I did not need the accompaniment of a man to protect me in the streets. However, I did not want to belittle her in her own home, nor reveal that I could probably kill any man who threatened my honor as well as my life.

Rabeea waved her hand dismissively. Carefully, she bent down and lowered Ridha to the floor.

"Then that is more reason why you should watch over Ridha! Are not you old enough to marry?" she rhetorically asked.

I opened my mouth.

She continued, "Before you know it, Allah will send you a wonderful husband! Then he will send you sons, or daughters. Whichever he wills! Still, if this is your first time looking after a child, then you must not have had any siblings. Or you were the youngest. Either way, may your future children not suffer your misfortunes!"

Before I could think of a retort, Rabeea walked further into the house. She disappeared around the corner of the hallway going left. Promptly she returned. A large basket hung from her arm. She was also wearing a white _khimar_. That veil resembled a _niqab_, except its opening exposed the frontal face, not just the eyes.

The publically modest woman kissed her son's cheeks then instructed me on how to take care of him in under a minute. Before I could ask any questions, she practically ran out the front door.

I blinked, bewildered.

Ridha began crying.

"No, no! Please don't cry!" I begged, moving to pick him up but hesitant to actually touch him. His little hands were in fists against his sides.

_What do I do_—_What do I do_—What do I do?!

I finally picked him up and held him. I swayed back and forth. His crying did not cease!

I looked around, trying to locate something to help me.

A pressure against my right breast caused me to stop. I looked down and saw Ridha's mouth pressed against it. Oh!

"Boy, I am not your mother, nor your wet nurse. Stop that!"

He ignored my command. While Ridha tried to breastfeed, I looked around the house for the kitchen. I quickly found it, and on the island counter was a pile of apples. While I did not know much about child development, I was sure he could stomach those at his age.

I set Ridha on the ground, and his crying resumed. I located the kitchen knife and cut an apple into smaller pieces. I slid them onto a plate then scooped Ridha into my left arm. Once we returned to the living room, I lowered Ridha against a pile of pillows. I placed the plate in front of him. He continued crying!

I took a much needed calm breath; must not reveal frustration by making a scary face.

"They are apples. Eat them," I ordered.

To prove they were tasty, I took a piece and ate it. The crying stopped. What?

I looked down. Ridha's dark eyes stared at me in captivation. Wondering if it really worked, I picked up another piece and ate it. Ridha's thin arms stretched over the plate.

"My apples!" he claimed.

I could not help but smile. So adorable!

Ridha began grabbing the apple chunks and eating them one by one. I continued monitoring to make sure he did not choke.

For the next few hours, the boy and I played a "response" game. He would cry. I would find ways to make him not cry. Surprisingly, it did not take me long to get him to stop crying. But after a while, he would start crying again. During those peaceful intervals, I prayed that his mother would return soon. No matter what Rabeea said, I was not a mother, and I certainly did not nurture lives…

…Finally, after four hours by the mercy of Allah, the door opened.

Rabeea entered with her large basket full of purchased goods. I was making funny faces at Ridha, but I promptly stopped upon hearing her enter. She called out to us. I picked up Ridha and greeted Rabeea.

"Praise Allah!" she exclaimed happily and smiled upon seeing her baby.

_Praise Allah you were not harmed by dishonorable guards, _I thought cynically.

With great care I handed Ridha to his mother. She immediately cuddled and talked to him. I was about to bid farewell when she spoke my name, stopping me.

"Kifah, I have something for you."

Rabeea lowered her son to the floor. Going through her basket, she pulled out a large bag filled with something unknown. She handed it to me, beckoning me to take it. I grabbed the bag. Curious, I opened it immediately. My eyes widened.

"These are my—"

Rabeea interrupted, "Shazeb asked me to give that to you when I visited his shop. He said he put something you left behind in there. I'm glad you recognize it! Oh, and he told me to tell you that he needs to see you tomorrow before the shop opens."

I raised an eyebrow. That could not be good.

Nodding my head, I replied, "Thank you. May Allah watch over your husband."

She smiled, "May Allah send you your husband."

Rabeea grabbed her basket and walked further into the house. Ridha obediently followed his mother.

I took my sweet leave.

A few hours passed before I returned to the unique building called my home. I found the same short wall to climb up to the roof. Soon I approached the rooftop entrance and leapt down due to habit—The empty vase was on top of the fountain's edge!

My legs barely dodged by falling past it, but the hard landing still caused the vase to fall over and shatter on the ground. I stumbled forward; my ankles again! But I did not have time to fret over them. The situation was very alarming. I could have sworn I placed the vase next to the fountain, not on it!

Who came into my home?!

Raising my guard, I set the bag on the floor. I reached for my throwing knives, cautiously approaching the archway. I peaked around the corner.

A knife came right at me!

* * *

**[ **_hijab_** ] head-scarf that wraps around the hair, ears, and neck; worn by women.**

**[ **_jilbaab_ **] Arabic robe; worn by women.**

**[ **_khimar _**] long head veil that only shows the front face and can reach the stomach or thighs; worn by women.**

**[ **_niqab_** ] long head veil that only shows the eyes/eye area and can reach the stomach or thighs; worn by women.**

**[ **_sammar_** ] common Arabic name for the Umbrella thorn tree.**

**[ **_sirwal _**] Arabic pants; worn by men.**

**[ **_thawb_ **] Arabic casual robe; worn by men.**


	3. 1-2

**[ ****8-7-13**** ] I did what research I could and updated the money system again.**

* * *

A knife came right at me!

I grabbed my top throwing knife and threw it at the oncoming one. They met and knocked each other off course. Another knife followed! I moved back against the corner. The knife flew past me and hit the wall.

I equipped two knives in my left hand and one in my right. I sprinted under the archway. The intruder, a man, saw me and reached for his belt. I threw my knives at his chest. He jumped to the left, dodging. I vaulted behind the long desk for cover. Something brushed the top of my veil as I landed. I looked up. A throwing knife was stuck in the bookshelf!

Landing hard, I collapsed onto my butt and hands, but it did not hurt; adrenaline kept me from feeling mild pain.

I equipped my dagger and another throwing knife. I turned around then stood up to face the intruder. He threw another knife, but I countered it with mine. The metals clanged loudly before landing off course.

A low gasp escaped the intruder, revealing his surprise by that feat again. But it lasted very shortly; he reached for his last throwing knife.

Blood pounded in my ears. I hastily leapt over the desk and moved to kill him, my weapon aimed for the neck. He grabbed my wrist before the dagger reached his skin. I gasped. He had great reflexes!

His left arm reached for my neck. I instinctively grabbed his wrist, barely halting its path. Then I heard sounds of gears and sliding metal—Something pricked my neck!

Alarmed I pulled back, but the intruder's grip kept firm around my wrist. A trickle of blood spilled before soaking into my _hijab_. I fought even harder to push his hand away. How did he harm me?! Where was his weapon?!

I dared not move my head in fear of further harm. My eyes looked down. The intruder's hand was raised at a high angle, showing his open palm, with no weapon. My gaze lowered further. I gawked. A thin, flat blade was emerged from the underside of his vambrace! What contraption was that?!

Wait—male intruder, left open palm, aimed for my neck, blood shed from my neck, invisible weapon, the man executed earlier today…

My eyes widened and darted across the leather straps around his torso then the white hood.

_That's not possible_—

I cried out from the swift kick to my stomach. I stubbornly kept standing, but I lost my grip on the intruder's wrist. My breath hitched.

His grip on my wrist tightened, bruising and cutting off blood flow to my left hand. I flinched and swung my free fist to punch him. The fake scholar quickly brought back his left hand—the blade disappeared back into the vambrace—and caught my fist. My left leg moved to kick him. He raised his right leg, blocking the hit, and it barely fazed him. His legs were sturdier than mine!

Suddenly, he pushed forward. I had to take a step back to keep my balance and footing. I pushed back in retaliation. My arms were shaking already!

The fake scholar noticed that and smirked, earning a scowl. Then I kicked him again. He blocked it again. I was about to try again when I heard a pop. Excruciating pain erupted from my imprisoned wrist. I screamed. My dagger slipped from its hold and fell to the floor, announcing my defeat with loud clangs.

The fake scholar kicked it away before releasing my wrist. Enraged, I swung my other hand, but he grabbed my shoulders and threw me against the wall. My head and back collided against it. I gasped from pain and shock; my back was still tender from falling earlier.

I instinctively raised my arms. Instead of attacking, he just stood there, catching his breath but still prepared to fight. My breathing was heavier than his, but I kept my guard up. The fake scholar was close enough that I could see his cautious eyes under the hood. We both knew I was a cornered, injured animal. I was still dangerous.

He waited.

Gradually, my breathing and pulse steadied. I remained alert, but I calmed down and composed myself. The fake scholar made it clear he wanted to talk first before killing me, like he did with that man. I could work with that.

I continued watching the intruder while lowering my arms to my sides. I straightened my stance. Neither of us spoke, so I took the opportunity to study him. Including the hood, he looked taller than me by four inches, making him around seventy-one inches in height. He was taller and more muscular than the average man, like any professional killer should be.

And like any professional killer, he had a disguise—a scholar mocking tunic. However, it worked better when viewed from the back. The front revealed the leather straps coming together, attaching to a triangular metal piece that rested against his right breast. The wide leather belt concealed a red sash wrapped around his waist, but its ends hung out at the front. Also, five empty holsters for throwing knives were attached to the belt.

How he managed to be incognito while wearing those openly was beyond me!

Familiarized with his outfit, my gaze returned to his face. His jaw line was matured, covered by fuzz that would later grow into a beard, and it covered his narrow chin. His mouth was set firm in a straight line. His nose was big yet narrow and scarred; I realized it had been broken but set back into place before. His shadowed eyes shifted constantly, studying my form while I had studied his. We would never forget each other's faces.

I exhaled loudly through my nose.

"What do you want?"

The intruder's expression turned stunned.

I opened my mouth to repeat the question, but he interrupted, "Remove your scarf."

I blinked, hesitant, but complied. Pulling off the white cloth, I noticed my blood stained around a small hole. My free arm wanted to touch my neck. I suppressed the show of weakness and tossed the ruined _hijab _to the floor.

The fake scholar shifted.

"You are a woman."

I looked back at him, dead-panned. That was what confused him?

"What a brilliant observation," I commented dryly. "Anything else obvious you wish to tell me?"

His expression soured.

His right hand shot out and wrapped around my throat. My hands instinctively grabbed his, trying to pry him off. His grip tightened, making it hard to breathe. My left wrist throbbed, but I scratched for any skin I could reach.

One of my nails cut deep into his left cheek. The intruder hissed and slammed me against the wall. I refused to stop. My left nails dug into his hand. My right hand returned and reached inside my clothes for a throwing knife.

He flicked his left wrist, and his hidden blade emerged from the vambrace. He aimed the point before my right eye.

I stilled.

"Be still, and tell me what I want to know!" he threatened.

His attempt almost made me laugh.

"Excuse me? Just who the fuck do you think _you_ are to be able to intimidate _me_?"

The blade came closer, about a finger's width away from my eye. I locked onto the weapon. My heartbeat increased; enough sweat beaded around my forehead and rolled down.

My hand slowly wrapped around a throwing knife.

Suddenly, the fake scholar dragged me up the wall until I reached his eye level. I screeched from surprise. My feet were no longer touching the floor! My legs wanted to kick out, but I suppressed the urge.

Just how strong was that man?!

The intruder glared and leaned closer.

"To answer your question, _woman_, I am an assassin."

My breathing hitched. Confirmation from his very mouth! Why was he here? Who was his employer? Was this business? Revenge? Should I run away or kill him? Was there any way I could convince him to leave me alone?

_How many people has he killed right after interrogating them?_ I grimly wondered.

Dread took hold. After he received the information he wanted, he was going to execute me! I had to escape, but what was the best method?

While I thought of a plan, the assassin questioned, "Why were you spying on me?"

"W-What?"

"Do not play dumb!" he yelled. "I saw you spying on my investigation and followed you to your hideout! How else do you think I got here?"

My face blanked with disbelief. I was seen and followed? And I did not notice?!

I thought fast.

"Oh! You are the scholar that beat that man in a fist fight!"

"You saw me kill him," he accused.

I could not think of a convincing retort, so my façade died. There was no point in lying.

"That was an accident," I was careful to explain, "I did not mean to spy on you. I heard noises, and my curiosity got the better of me. And this is not my 'hideout.' This is my home."

The man paused shortly before proceeding, "Who do you work for?"

"I work for no one but myself," I lied harshly. Even to my own ears that sounded forced, but I refused to be a red bellied coward and betray Shazeb!

If the assassin did not believe me, he chose not to address it. He remained silent for too long, contemplating.

More beads of sweat trailed down my face, leaving behind a tickling feeling.

"You have no idea what this place is… was."

His self-correction was puzzling. Before I could ask, he lowered my body. My feet touched the welcoming floor. He lowered his hidden blade, but it did not return to its confines—it was perpendicular to my neck.

"You are no longer useful to me."

My grip on the throwing knife tightened. Words no person being interrogated wanted to hear!

"…I'm sorry—"

"I forgot to tell you something!"

Accomplishment showed through his eyes. That assassin was full of talent but still young and overconfident. He believed my interruption as a last minute attempt for salvation, like I had hoped. He was probably expecting a full confession of some kind.

I remained silent. Growing impatient, he demanded I give the information.

I lifted my head high and leaned forward. My face was so close to his I spotted white scars across his cheeks. I was not the first person to harm his face. I could feel his hot breath hit my forehead.

He blinked, startled by my intrusion into his space, but he held his ground.

I looked up into his dirt brown eyes and whispered, "I am an assassin."

Warning delivered, I leaned back to absorb his reaction…

His body visibly stiffened, but no blade cut my throat. His eyebrows scrunched hard together, but no hatred or apprehension showed. His mouth was open, but no words came out.

_He is dumbfounded! _I realized.

…That reaction was not what I had expected.

He blinked and his eyebrows relaxed. Doubt showed on the assassin.

Really? After tracking me, invading my home, and fighting me, he did not believe I was an assassin? I was obviously not a normal woman! What was wrong with him? Was he stubborn? Slow? Stupid...? Was he insane?

Whatever the case, my last stalling card was played. If I were to leave alive, I had to do something quick!

Then to my confusion, he took away his left hand. The hidden blade disappeared, but his other hand kept me captive. Something about what he did clawed at the back of my mind. Was he playing some sort of trick?

I gradually unsheathed the throwing knife. He leaned back, looking resolved now.

"Nothing is true…"

Despite that being a complete sentence, I sensed he was expecting a reply. But my mind and face blanked. What was that nonsense supposed to mean?

Too many seconds passed in silence. Whatever the reply I was supposed to give, the assassin quickly realized I did not know it: he grew livid.

The belated epiphany finally reached me, causing my pulse to jump. That was some kind of code—!

The desire for blood exploded from the assassin. It made his skin hot, stinging like a sandstorm. I could see his body's tremors. Rage filled his narrowed eyes.

He was going to _murder_ me!

"Liar!" he roared and raised his left arm to summon the hidden blade.

In the moment, I panicked.

I kicked his loins.

The assassin gave an undignified squeak as he collapsed to his knees; he released my throat as he fell. His arms were brought back to defend his crotch. Bulging eyes shutting tight, he released a stream of profanities while falling over. He was so overwhelmed with pain that he forgot my presence! That was my chance to finish him!

Yet instinct pushed me to flee while I could. Shaking, I sheathed my throwing knife and promptly retrieved my fallen dagger. I ran out of the room. I grabbed the bag of working clothes and ran up the fountain. Near the top I threw the bag onto the roof then jumped. My fingers caught the edge, and I pulled myself up despite my injured wrist. Still adrenaline rushed, I got the bag and kept running.

Reaching the edge, I jumped onto a near rooftop. I landed and almost tripped, staggering to a halt. Cursed sandals! If I was going to free-run on the roofs, I could not do it while wearing those!

I looked around and immediately spotted a vacant alleyway. I jumped down and landed into a roll. I briefly cried from putting pressure on my left wrist. Raising it, I inspected the damage. The area was bruising, throbbing, warm, and slightly swollen. I still could not believe he popped it!

He was not going to lay in my house forever. Scowling, I stood up and exited the alleyway. The private garden room awaited around the corner. I peaked in. Seeing no one, I entered and hid in a shadowed corner. I opened the bag and pulled its contents out. My boots were among my masculine clothes!

_Allah bless you with many sons, Shazeb! _I rejoiced.

With haste I removed my _jilbaab_ and sandals then dressed in the _sirwal_, _thawb_, and leather boots. I was about to put on the mask when I remembered my injured neck.

My hand carefully touched around. I brought it back into view. Gooey smudges of blood covered my fingertips. It had been exposed to the air long enough to darken. At least the wound stopped bleeding. After wiping my fingers clean, I combed back my short, sweaty hair and pulled on my mask.

I was always tall for a woman, the height of an average man. Now at a glance, people would assume they saw a young man.

I gathered my normal clothes and sandals and placed them in the bag. I hauled it over my shoulder to carry it comfortably. Satisfied with my efforts, I left the garden room and entered the streets.

What should I do next? That assassin knew where I lived. Though he was not going to move for a while, once he recovered he would probably monitor my house for weeks! I could not return yet. I had to sleep somewhere else.

There were two people who could take me in, but one would be more compliant than the other. I did not want to burden his family, but he was the safest and best option…

I looked up at the yellowing sky. It was evening. Shazeb could still be at his shop. He wanted to talk to me anyway, so it might as well be today.

Despite knowing the assassin was too injured to follow me, I still checked periodically to confirm I was not followed. The walk from the Poor District to the Rich District made it easier since people were finishing their business and chores to return home.

The shop's front door was open, so Shazeb had not closed the building and left!

I entered eagerly. The wooden shelves against the walls were fully stocked already with oils for tomorrow. The shelves along the floor in the right half of the room featured candles while the shelves in the other half featured candle holders. In the back was the owner at the register desk with a balance, counting the day's earnings.

Shazeb raised his head. He heard me walk in.

"Peace be upon you," I greeted in my normal voice.

"And to you as well. What brings you here this late?"

I approached the desk wondering where to start.

"I…"

Shazeb motioned me to get on with it. I breathed in.

"An assassin attacked me in my home."

The _darahim _fell noisily. Some landed on the balance while the rest hit the desk.

Shazeb's eyes were wide with worry and anger.

"What?!" he yelled as his hands slammed on the wood, rattling the coins. "How? Why? Tell me what happened!"

I quickly obliged, "You see, this afternoon I saw a man dressed like a scholar murder a civilian. I slipped away and went home, but apparently he had noticed and followed me. He didn't attack then. I left and visited Rabeea—"

"Yes, I know," Shazeb interrupted, still displeased with that.

I felt a little hurt from his reaction, but I continued, "After she gave me your message and my clothes, I returned home. The same man, still dressed like a scholar, was waiting inside and attacked me. He managed to subdue me and tried to interrogate me," I grit out; I had the time to be angry and ashamed now. "That was how I found out he was an assassin, not some thief."

"Did he reveal his business?"

"I believe he mistook me for something I am not; he demanded to know why I was spying on him. He even called my home a hideout!"

My employer stroked his beard. He gazed down.

"You are certain this assassin posed as a scholar?"

"I swear by Allah he looked like a scholar, at least from the back."

Shazeb paused then returned his gaze to me.

I elaborated, "The front did not work as well since he carried weapons openly."

He looked even more troubled.

"But he was not sent for an act of vengeance?"

"No."

"How did you escape?"

"I, uh… crippled him and… ran away," I confessed while lowering my head.

Shazeb nodded.

"Good," he assured, "you did the right thing."

That was alarming.

"What?" My head shot up.

"Based on what you have told me, the assassin was on strict business. Whatever his objective is, it was given to him by another, and it must be important for him to have wasted time tracking you and waiting to fight and interrogate you."

Shazeb leaned forward.

"It would be best to stay away from him," he advised before leaning back.

I paused, choosing the best way to respond to the situation. I set my bag against the desk.

"About that… He knows where I live, and he tried to kill me even after discovering I did not have what he wanted. I believe he will try to find me again."

Shazeb frowned. "So, you cannot stay there for a while."

I nodded my head humbly. The aging man sighed.

"You may stay in my home for a week—"

My face brightened, and I opened my mouth to thank him.

"—if you obey my rules and conditions," he interrupted.

"I will."

He crossed his arms. He seemed skeptical for some reason.

"One: do not reveal in any way to Rabeea about our side profession. Two: you will be our guest, but do not abuse your privileges. Remember that Rabeea is a first time mother with a little child. Three: I do not want Rabeea or Ridha alone with you under the same roof." His eyebrows furrowed. "If I cannot watch you with them, you will either come with me to work or wander the city. Do you understand?"

I frowned. _That_ was what was worrying him?

"Shazeb, we talked about that three years ago. I am not a danger to your family!"

He raised an eyebrow in doubt. I narrowed my eyes.

"I said it true then, and I say it true now: if I ever have a quarrel with you, I will have it with _you_ and no one else!"

Shazeb glared, scowling at my statement.

"So you say? Ha! Three years after I healed your mind yet your heart has not changed. I know you, Kifah, and I do not trust you near my son!"

His subtle accusation shocked me. My body began to shake. I would never do that to him!

_Would I?_ I second guessed; I knew myself better than anyone else…

I sighed heavily and calmed down.

"I understand," I admitted sadly, "and will obey as Allah wills."

Shazeb's look did not falter, but he nodded his head and affectionately patted my shoulder.

"I believe you will get better in time. Do not lose faith in your goodness."

I blinked. I was already aware I had some good surviving in me thanks to my mother, Old-Man, and Shazeb. However, there was nothing about me that needed changing. That was the one thing about Shazeb that always baffled me: his desire to attain righteousness despite maintaining his side profession. I was not sure if that made him a hypocrite or not.

I changed the topic, "Rabeea said you wanted to see to me tomorrow morning?"

"Oh, yes! We can talk about that now if you wish."

"I did mention it."

My employer gathered the fallen silver coins while he spoke, "It turns out our client this morning was dishonest. About one-third of the payment was bronze coins."

My eyes widened. How dare he?!

"That lowly cheap s—Wait… That explains why he was so nervous this morning!"

"Exactly. I need you to pay him a visit and collect the six-hundred and thirty three _dinari_ he owes. Afterwards, do not kill him for his insolence. He was a first time client," he smirked, "but you can scare him a little."

That added to my disappointment.

Shazeb raised an eyebrow at the expression on my face.

"You remember where he lives, right?"

"Oh, of course," I quickly answered and returned to being stoic.

"Good, but let me lend you the blueprints."

He motioned me to follow, and we headed for the garden house.

I waited for a few seconds before wondering, "Should I bring the money here?"

"No. By the time you are done, I will be home. Go there. And Allah bring you success."

"Allah bring you good health… I need to borrow your gauze."

**1 | 2**

_I should have changed back into my feminine clothes, _I berated myself. It was easier to move about the homes of rich men when I looked like a wife or concubine!

Regardless, it was too late. My clothes were returned to Shazeb's trunk so I could fill the bag with the money. I would have to infiltrate the client's house as a man.

I finished circling the estate and sat on a nearby bench. A high fence prevented easy entry, and the only entrance gate was guarded by four men. However, there were no patrolling guards inside the fence's proximity, so the fence and guards were the only obstacles separating me from the two story house.

I glanced at the dark red and yellow sky and the beginning sunset before looking back at the guards at the gate. Their backs were slightly hunched, their mouths were dipped in slight frowns, and their eyes looked fogged. They were really tired.

I readjusted myself to sit comfortably on the bench, and waited. It did not take long for one of the guards to find his voice.

"Captain, should not we leave now? The sun is setting."

"No," the most well built guard answered.

"But it is sunset!"

"Al Tufayl hired us to leave when the others relieve us of our—" a sudden yawn escaped his mouth. "—shift," he finished, visibly irked from embarrassment.

Another soldier joined in, "Come on, Alim! This is the third time those imbeciles have been late for their shifts. Why don't we go home now and get plenty of rest and you can teach them a lesson when we switch shifts again in the morning?"

Though the leader gave an annoyed look at his men, he was considering their words. I mentally asked Allah to encourage him to give in.

The young captain sighed and finally gave in to his body's needs, "Alright, I see your point. Let's go, and if Al Tufayl has any complaints, maybe he should pay us more and Butrus and his men less!"

The others laughed. The group started walking away from the gate, but they halted. Multiple people were screaming, and they were getting closer.

I turned my head to the right. Two civilians were running into view, and they saw the soldiers and approached them.

"Guards!" an obese scholar managed to say, but his exhaustion prevented him from speaking further.

A young, well-groomed boy continued for him, "We saw it all! It happened so fast! A scholar bumped into a soldier then the soldier pushed him away so he bumped into another soldier, who also pushed him away so he pumped into the other soldier, and the soldier was about to push him but the scholar got really mad and killed him with his HAND! And then the other soldiers drew their swords, and they started FIGHTING! Father ran away screaming like a girl, 'Murderer, murderer!' So I followed him and imitated him, and now we're here!" The energetic boy finally breathed again.

The guards gawked at the account, as did I. There was only one _scholar_ I knew that could kill someone with his _hand_.

"Captain, you do not think…?"

"Allah bless your family, boy," he patted the child's shoulder. "You and your father go home now. We will investigate this."

The boy and the scholar bid them farewell and walked away. The guards ran, following the trail of screaming terrified citizens. I suspected once they were close enough, the sounds of dying soldiers would assist them as well; it was too much to hope for Jerusalem's soldiers being capable of killing that man. Still, I was grateful for the distraction.

Standing off the bench, I casually entered the estate. Mentally, I was not as composed. Being a man also had its limitations, especially when age was considered. Only a fool would believe me to be older than sixteen once my mouth opened. And my sprained wrist ruined any thought of climbing. I would have to infiltrate the charming way: talking. It was not only my least preferred method, it was more dangerous. I was not a skilled liar.

But that did not impair my ability to think and act on the go!

I knocked on the double wooden doors. Footsteps approached from the other side. The left door was opened just enough, revealing a hefty man. He narrowed his dull eyes.

"What do you want?"

I suppressed the urge to glare at the man's rudeness. I quickly studied him. His clothes were too dark to belong to slaves. Based on that, his size, his muscles, and his blank stare, he was most likely a hired bodyguard. In addition, his greeting suggested he was corruptible.

"Peace be upon you. My name is Fahkir Asrar—"

"What do you want?" he repeated with a scowl.

My left eye twitched. If only circumstances were different!

"My master," I quickly continued, "the eldest son of the late Zaid Sabah, has a message for master Al Tufayl—"

The bald man quickly extended his hand. I stepped back due to reflex.

"Give it to me. Now!" he commanded at my hesitation.

_Give him _it_? _I realized his assumption.

"There is no letter. My master's message is verbal—"

"Then go away!" he yelled then slammed the door in my face.

My glare broke free, and I scowled loudly. Possible orders of paranoia or not, that behavior was uncalled for!

I violently knocked. As the same heavy footsteps returned I extracted my first money pouch. The same bodyguard answered the door.

He snarled, "I thought I told you—"

"I know what you said, you disloyal dog," I hissed while unfastening the pouch. "I am a courier, and my message will be delivered!"

His voice was silenced by the opening revealing the _dinari_. His eyes began drooling.

"That finally got your attention? Good. Now listen carefully: my name is Fahkir Asrar, and I was sent by Zaid Sabah's son to deliver a verbal message to Al Tufayl concerning his safety and the death of Zaid Sabah. It would be in your and your employer's best interests if I deliver the message to him as soon as possible," I paused, "wouldn't you agree?"

The man snapped out of his trance and nodded fervently. He reached out to grab the bribe, but I brought it back.

"Give them to me!"

"Will you let me in to do my job and keep this to yourself?" I asked warily.

Again, he nodded fervently. His greed outweighed his professionalism. I raised a patient eyebrow. The brute realized what I was waiting for and completely opened the door. I strolled in and turned the pouch upside down. He panicked for a moment then dropped to the floor, desperately grabbing the fallen coins like a scavenging animal. I continued on, knowing his satisfied greed would keep him from thinking about how suspicious I was.

I closed the empty pouch and tied it next to the second one. My heart was beating against my chest. I was not sure what to do now.

"Hello?" a humble voice came from my left.

I turned to address the servant or slave. She stepped under the decorated archway and into the plain hallway and bowed. Her clean white clothes failed to hide her slim figure. Her skin was slightly fairer and lighter than mine, and she was obviously short and pretty due to youth. It would have surprised me if she had reached adolescence. She was a house slave.

"Peace be upon you," I looked down at her, "I am Fahkir Asrar."

She raised her head and answered, "Peace be upon you. How may your servant Ain assist you?" She was very polite and cooperative, a welcomed change.

"Where is your master? I have a message for him."

A faint blush spread across her cheeks.

"I am sorry, but he is… engaged."

Unwelcome memories flooded my mind. I wanted to destroy something, but instead I forced them down to maintain composure. Maybe it was for the best that I came as a man, though that behavior should not have been surprising. It was close to night, and Al Tufayl was a healthy husband with a new wife. Once he finished, I doubted he would want to discuss business in candlelight. He would probably get ready for bed, and I could use that to my advantage!

"Girl, I need a room to spend the night in. There is no need to disturb your master this late, so I will deliver my message in the morning."

**1 | 2**

"Is this all you require of your servant?" Ain placed the book, paper, and ink pot with a quill that I had asked for on the desk.

I assured her, "Yes. Now go rest." I returned the oil lamp to her.

"Allah give you a pleasant sleep."

"And to you as well."

The servant girl bowed and exited my guest room. I scanned the room again. The large candle on the desk gave enough illumination. Approaching the window, I looked out and saw the highly vegetated garden, the heart of the estate. Torches fastened against the house's outer walls were being lit by various servants, but there were no guards patrolling. Al Tufayl did not have any replacements for the ones that assassin murdered.

I returned to the desk and opened the book. I quickly scanned for the words needed, which did not take long to find. Grabbing the paper and quill, I carefully copied them down. Although I had learned to read, I never learned to write since I did not have much use for it. But for what I planned to do, a message should be left while I quietly and safely escaped in the night.

Despite spending time on each letter, the finished message was crudely written: the strokes were sloppy, the dots were not aligned, and each succeeding letter was placed slightly lower than its predecessor.

I frowned at my first work. It was really not a surprise, but I did not expect it to be that bad!

The paper's thick, black contents kept staring with an ugly look.

_No business again_, I barely read it, but the message was clear enough. Combined with six-hundred and thirty three _dinari _mysteriously gone, Al Tufayl could discern who stole his money, left the message, and why. Hopefully, the realization would terrify him enough to not only ruin his pants but prevent any thoughts of dishonesty in the future; not all businessmen were as merciful as Shazeb.

Once the ink dried, I folded the paper and switched its place with the estate's blueprints. I studied it close to the candle. My room was on the left half of the quarter, with its window facing north, and Al Tufayl's bedroom was on the second floor, right above me actually!

My excitement immediately soured. If not for my injury, I would just climb up.

I looked at the blueprints again. The closest staircase was two rooms south, and walking up it would lead to a balcony. Continuing down the right corridor would lead to his bedroom door on the right. His most trustworthy guard's bedroom was on the left.

I paused after tucking the blueprints in my _sirwal_. That double-crossing fool deserved death, especially since he was stupid enough to swindle an assassin! He had better understand he owed Shazeb his life and leave the city, or I would repay him appropriately.

I blew the candle out. My eyes adjusted to the dark, but enough moonlight came through the window. The sky must have been cloudless, and the moon full.

Leaving the guestroom, I carefully walked to the staircase. The two rooms' windows were concealed by curtains, blocking the moonlight. I heard only my boots touching the floor. My arms were stretched out to feel for objects ahead. The staircase's outline came into view because light shown from its top. The balcony's back wall had open windows—

My head whipped around. I heard heavy footsteps!

Keeping close to the wall, I silently and very slowly walked up the stairs. The footsteps were approaching lazily, but they clearly belonged to a man.

A bead of sweat fell down my cheek. Come _on_, just a few more steps—!

I froze. He reached the base of the staircase. I stopped breathing. He passed it and into another room. I exhaled and reached the top. Returning to the shadows, I continued down the right corridor.

Spotting Al Tufayl's door I approached it, and I could hear his snores. Good, he was asleep.

My right hand reached out, but my lust made me pause again. I glanced at the bodyguard's door. Shazeb did not say to not kill the workers, and technically, I was not on a mission. But my left wrist throbbed; it was healing... Mission or not, it was unwise to start a fight with that injury!

I gradually pushed the door open. Its creaks were softer than the man's snoring. Once the opening was wide enough, I released the door and slipped inside. If there was a window, it was covered, making the room very dark.

_I can barely see the outlines! _I thought, anxious.

The bed was at the left wall. A wardrobe, desk, and chair were at the right. Other objects were against the front and back walls, but I could not see enough details to identify them. Where was the money hidden?

The bedroom was considered the most personal and private area of the house. Al Tufayl only recently starting hiring guards to patrol inside and outside the house every night, and he was not paranoid by nature but collected according to Shazeb. And he was a married man with two wives. So, Al Tufayl would be the type to keep his savings close and hidden, but easy enough for quick access.

I leaned under the bed frame and felt around. My right knuckles immediately hit something hard.

I stilled. That was too loud!

I stared at the bed's underside. Al Tufayl snorted and rolled over. Taking a calm breath, I grabbed the object and pulled. It did not budge. I included my left hand to compensate and slowly slid the load into the open. I did not want to risk making noise across the hard floor, but the chest must have weighed fifteen pounds!

My arms rested for a minute.

Once I opened the chest, my fingers ran over the wealth inside. Despite the darkness, I knew when I held gold for they were heavier than silver and copper. I focused hard and kept track of how many _dinari_ I moved into my bag. I did not have the opportunity to count twice!

However, I was not finished. Tucked under my belt was the handwritten message. I pulled it free, unfolded it, and laid it across the remaining coins. I quietly closed the lid, but I decided to leave the chest where it was due to lack of time and energy. Standing, I exited the room and closed the door behind me.

Returning to the balcony, I decided it would be easier leaving climbing down the walls. There were still no replacement guards around the premise, but there was a guard patrolling inside the house.

As I safely made my escape, I snickered at the thought of Al Tufayl's face once he opened that chest!

**1 | 2**

Avoiding the night patrols and archers, I finally located the Al-Roze's house. I narrowed my eyes; there was still light inside. With haste I ran down a stack of boxes and approached the front door. I lightly knocked.

Running footsteps reached the door and slung it wide open, revealing Rabeea holding a candlestick. I opened my mouth to speak, but her appearance stopped my tongue. Her mouth was open, panting. Her wide eyes showed terror. And her face, like her body, remained frozen despite seeing me. For a moment I feared she was stricken with madness. Then she screamed.

"What have you done with my husband?!"

My eyes bulged, and I quickly backed away while explaining, "Rabeea, I'm Kifah! Do you still not recognize me?"

I lifted the front of my _niqab_. Rabeea paused then cupped my face.

"Kifah?" she whispered, confused, but at least she was calm again.

Rabeea released my face and welcomed me inside.

"I am sorry. I am glad to see you again—I really am, but I have not seen my husband since I went shopping. Have you seen…?" She noticed my attire and eyed me strangely. "Why are you dressed like a man?"

I rubbed my forehead. I was hungry, tired, sweaty, hurt, and technically homeless, and now Shazeb was missing!

"It is a long and complicated story, but I am doing this for my safety. I can't tell you anything more," I answered then pulled my mask back into place.

Rabeea skeptically thought it over, but she reluctantly agreed, thank Allah!

"We _will _talk about this later, but right now I need your help. Have you seen Shazeb?"

Even with my face covered, I tried not to show alarm.

"No. The last time I saw him, he said he was going home… I can't imagine why he is not here," I lied.

His wife stared at me. I resisted the urge to fidget.

"Mommy?"

Rabeea and I looked down at Ridha standing behind his mother. He was wearing a sleeping gown and rubbing his sleepy eyes. Masking her worried state, Rabeea picked him up and held him on her hip. The baby laid his head on her shoulder to sleep.

Returning her attention to me, she pleaded, "Kifah, I don't know if it is Allah or my intuition, but something is telling me that you can find Shazeb. I would do it myself, but I cannot leave Ridha alone." Her eyes softened. "Please, bring back my love!"

I could not say anything. Painful memories resurfaced from Rabeea's plea. I even swallowed so hard it hurt my throat.

I did not want Rabeea and Ridha to suffer what I did… I liked them too much.

"I will," my promise was shaky but true. I would do anything within my power.

Knowing she could not be useful, Rabeea saw me out. She stressfully gripped the front door.

"Allah bring you success," she prayed with hope.

I blessed her, "Allah bring you peace."

Rabeea closed the door, and I went to the rooftops—to the last place I saw Shazeb.

**1 | 2**

The shop was closed as expected, as were the windows. Nothing on the outside looked unusual.

I was standing on a nearby building. I ran to the edge and jumped, landing on the shop's roof. I hissed at the force on my ankles and curse under my breath. But there was no time to waste. I reached the ground and walked to the garden house. I knew its door was locked, but the high placed window remained open!

Running up the wall, I grabbed the sill with my good hand and pulled, allowing my left arm to reach inside and grasp at the wall. My feet climbed up, and my body pushed inside until I fell into the room. My training had me land on my hands and knees, but it still hurt, especially my sprained wrist.

I picked myself up and walked it off to the desk. The trunk was still next to it. Not sure where else to store the loot, I hid the bag under my feminine clothes. Removing that weight was a great relief!

Moving to the desk's drawer, I felt around and grabbed two flint stones. I struck them to light the oil lamp then returned the stones into the drawer. Using the oil lamp, I traveled to the shop and looked around. Nothing was out of place.

I returned to the garden house. There were no clues here either.

I wanted to throw the lamp across the room, but I did not. I drew the blueprints from my _sirwal _and placed them on the desk. My light source followed, and I snuffed the flame with my fingers. I stared in the darkness; the full weight of the situation fell on my shoulders.

I had no clue where to find Shazeb.

My brain wracked for anything—_anything_!

After a few seconds, I growled and quickly covered my mouth, muting my long shriek of frustration. I backed up against a wall and slid down it until my butt hit the floor. I snapped out of it and stopped screaming.

_What happened to you?_

I swallowed some saliva to soothe my throat. I _did not_ do nothing and cry—never again! I would calm down and think of a plan! I had to!

Rubbing my temples, I crossed my legs and breathed swiftly. In… Out…

I centered myself and concentrated.

It had not been a full day, so Shazeb was most likely still in Jerusalem. Given his profession and politically neutral status, who could afford the wasted resources and stupidity to apprehend him and why? He was the only businessman of his status in the Holy City, a religious and political battleground waiting to explode. He was also the only businessman with an assassin who would cleanly kill anyone regardless of their gender, ethnicity, religion, class, job, age, and family—_especially_ their age and family—without leaving a religious or political trademark for respective recognition; I was not stupid or egotistic. That combined with murder motivated purely by money made it almost impossible to trace the crimes back to the contractors.

So, who _would _afford the wasted resources and stupidity to apprehend him? No one. Which meant it was not a client who could have taken Shazeb, but who else could and would?

A loud rumble echoed in the still night. My right hand covered my belly. I could not ignore my hunger any longer, and I was getting exhausted from lack of sleep. Perhaps if I returned to the Al-Roze house to eat and rest, the answer would come easier to me.

Getting up, I left through the window and landed on the roads on my hands and knees again, which made the pain worse. But I ignored it, stood up, and wiped the sand and numerous little rocks from my hands and knees. I had to climb up the buildings if I could not locate any stocked boxes again—

"Don't move, thief!"

My face hardened. That was not who I thought it was—yes, it was.

I turned around and faced a patrol of four guards. One was carrying a large oil lamp hanging from a pole, allowing me to see them better. Wait, what did they call me?

"Excuse me?"

The leader of the group sneered, "You heard us, _boy_. It is hours past dusk, and there are only two reasons for a boy your age to be out of bed at night: a girl or stealing. And considering you are at the market and just climbed out of a _window_, the answer should be obvious."

That night could not stop getting worse. It put me at an impasse.

I quickly made up my mind, "Alright. Take me to prison."

The guards paused and looked at each other, confused.

"Are you serious?" one asked.

I snapped.

"_Yes_! Do you have any idea what kind of day I've had?! I had to take care of a baby for the first time for _four hours_. I was attacked and almost killed in my own house, and my wrist was sprained. I had to work overtime and miss dinner—so I'm starving! And I have not fallen asleep yet tonight because I'm too scared to go back home! So, _please_, take me to prison so I can finally get some rest and food! I don't care how crappy it is!" I angrily huffed, the entirety of my day finally affecting me.

My rant left the men speechless for a while. They could tell I spoke the truth, which shocked them even more.

Finally, the leader asked, "So, you are admitting to theft?"

"_No_, I am not. I did just crawl out of a window, but a window to a _garden house_. What could I possibly want from there except shelter?"

Before he could answer, a long growl erupted from my stomach. My hand quickly pressed against it and started rubbing in circles. That actually hurt!

The leader considered my words and situation.

He thoughtfully replied, "I see… Well, that still does not excuse you from breaking and entering, boy, so we have to take you to prison."

"I know. Can we go now?"

The men nodded. With two in front of me and two behind me, they escorted me to one of the smaller debtors' prisons in the district. Like the outside of the building, the inside was lit by torches against the bland concrete walls. If anyone else was occupied in the cells, I could not see or hear them.

The guards gave me an unoccupied cell. Though I hated that they were obligated to chain my wrists and ankles to the walls, I gave them no trouble. After they finished and left, the captain unexpectedly returned with two full bowls of gruel. They were no doubt cold, but I was too hungry to care.

He set them in front of me, and gave a slight smile.

"I can not imagine _why_ what you said happened to you happened, but nothing excuses breaking the law. Once the sun comes up, I will release you, and I better not catch you ever again! You understand, boy?"

My gaze unwillingly broke away from the food.

"Yes, sir," I agreed. He would never catch me.

Satisfied, the guard bid goodnight, locked my cell, and disappeared out of sight.

Once sure there were no witnesses present, I quickly raised my _niqab_ over my nose and brought one of the bowls to my mouth. I guzzled the gruel. Once finished, I lowered the bowl from my lips and set it away. I grabbed the last bowl and consumed its nasty gruel faster than the last. They tasted like excrement compared to shawarma!

Not content but not on the brink of starvation either, I set the last bowl down and lay on the cold concrete floor. I pulled my mask down.

I prayed to Allah the prison was safe from that assassin! Although, anyone unlocking and opening the cell door would wake me up. The only people to truly worry about were the dishonorable guards.

_Guards,_ the word repeated in my mind.

Before I noticed, my heavy eyelids closed and were consumed by sleep.

* * *

**[ **_dinar_** ] medieval Muslim coin consisting of pure gold and weighing an average of 4.4 grams each. Plural [ **_dinari _**]**

**[ **_dirham _**] medieval Muslim coin consisting of a pure silver and weighing an average of 3 grams each. Plural [ **_darahim _**]**

**[ **_hijab_** ] head-scarf that wraps around the hair, ears, and neck; worn by women.**

**[ **_jilbaab_ **] Arabic robe; worn by women.**

**[ **_sirwal _**] Arabic pants; worn by men.**

**[ **_thawb_ **] Arabic casual robe; worn by men.**


End file.
